


take care of me

by yakyuu_yarou



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, Incest, M/M, Prelude to Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-25 02:50:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21349039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakyuu_yarou/pseuds/yakyuu_yarou
Summary: Nero is overwhelmed by his first heat. Dante comes home just in time to take care of him. A prelude to sex.
Relationships: Dante/Nero (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 143
Collections: Spardacest Server Fics and Art





	take care of me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moolktea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moolktea/gifts).

> Written for the Spardacest Server Secret Santa, for the ever-lovely and most innocent moolktea 💙 I hope you enjoy this.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

The thing that broke Nero out of his haze was the sound of the door opening. It was too loud, too sudden, and it made him whine—into his arm and his pillow at the same time, face half-pressed against both as if either had any chance of helping the sweat on his forehead and his cheeks. His moment of clarity didn‘t last long, however, and he slipped back into the haze of too-hot breaths and shudders that wracked his body just a few shaky breaths later—or tried to. Because just when he was about to trade his awareness of reality for the agonised, desperate mindlessness he‘d just escaped from once more, whoever had opened the door began to move.

Instinctively, Nero tilted his head, shaking it a little to dislodge some of the sweat-damp strands that had gotten stuck to his ears over time. In theory, he knew that wasn‘t going to help him hear better over the racing of his own pulse, but in practise, he didn‘t actually _ care _ . About anything, really, that wasn‘t this all-consuming, mind-numbing fucking _ heat _.

That, and the way his rampaging hormones enhanced his senses—some of them, anyway. Everything was _ too much _ , inside his body and outside of it, so much that even the steps in the hallway, which were far lighter than he’d expected them to be (why had he expected them to be heavy?), were impossible to ignore. He wasn’t _ entirely _ sure if he was hearing them or if his pulse just happened to align with them perfectly well, but that, too, he didn’t really care about.

Nero _ did _ care about turning his head enough and blinking aggressively until at least some of the salt (of sweat or tears, he couldn’t really tell anymore) was gone from his eyes so he could get a half-decent look at the door to his bedroom. It was closed, but not locked, because he hadn’t expected anybody walking into his apartment—and even if he had and the door’d been locked, the only person it made any sense for the intruder to be (for his slow, sluggish brain, anyhow) wouldn’t be stopped by a lock.

Not that he _ wanted _ Dante to be stopped by a lock. The thought of it, of Dante breaking the lock in his hurry and need to get to Nero, caused a rush of wetness between his legs and made him grind his cock into the already-filthy bedsheets. At least he’d had the presence of mind to toss his blanket off before diving in head-first this morning—small blessings, and all that. He had a vague feeling it might become less of a blessing later on, but right now, he couldn’t worry about that.

When the door finally, _ finally _ opened, Nero was openly grinding his dick into the mattress, moaning helplessly. He’d grown more and more desperate with every step taken towards his door, with every second Dante’s scent had to suffuse the apartment; a scent that messed with him enough when he _ wasn’t _ entirely at the mercy of his hormones for the first time in his life. So yeah, it was kind of really bad now. Bad and _ fucking amazing _, he thought as he managed to lift his head a little higher with the intention to greet Dante. What came out of his mouth instead was another long, drawn-out moan, so loud and needy that it’d have made him flush with embarrassment at literally any other time.

Dante seemed to get it anyway. He kicked the door shut behind himself—gently, _ quietly _ , thank _ fuck _ —and stepped over to the bed with so much determination he nearly _ stalked _ . Nero tried to speak again, annoyed that he couldn’t while the heat crashed into him like waves, inevitable and horrible and amazing, now that Dante was there. Before he could, though—and before he could embarrass himself again—, Dante’s hand came to rest on the back of his sweaty neck, tangling into the strands there. Nero’d thought of cutting it short after … everything that had happened in Fortuna (had that really been just a few weeks ago? Didn’t feel like it), but this habit of Dante’s had changed his mind quickly. He _ loved _ it, craved the fingers possessively digging into his skin, right over the scent glands that were now producing pheromones as if his life depended on it.

“Yeah, yeah.” His voice was rougher than Nero had ever heard it. Lower, too, as if he was just as _ wrecked _ by this as Nero, who shuddered under the voice and the touch and the scent and the— “I’ve got you, kid. I’ll take care of you.” Another sound escaped him as he insistently pushed his neck into Dante’s grip, tried to shift closer to Dante, to wordlessly express just how _ hot _ he was. He had a vague flash of ‘we’ve talked this through at some point’, but it flitted away immediately, and all that remained was _ Dante _.

His touch, his voice (though Nero had no fucking clue what he was saying, just that the tone of it hadn’t changed, was vibrating through his bones and muscles and _ soul _ and _ how the fuck did it do that _ ), his scent, his presence, his—everything. Nero groaned and reached out blindly to grab at Dante’s sleeve and drag him closer, but his hand was shaking and the hours (had it been hours?) of constant strain and arousal had left him without any of his fine motor skills, so all he managed was a weak, if insistent, tug. He moaned again, and this time he _ did _ get words out somehow.

“Dante, _ fuck _, please, I—I think I’m in heat, I need—”

Instead of replying properly, not that Nero would have registered it much, Dante shushed him. Leaned down and made Nero whimper softly, helplessly, when he nosed at his hair and then moved down to carefully, almost gently, dig his teeth into Nero’s scent gland. He relaxed immediately, went entirely boneless, and for the first time in what felt like a day at least but had probably been much, much less, Nero’s head felt the tiniest bit clearer. When Dante spoke, it was teeth scraping against skin, making already-raw nerves _ burn _ with desire and greed.

“I’ve got you, Nero. I’ll take care of you.” And Nero knew he would.


End file.
